


Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know

by Augustus



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-09
Updated: 2000-11-09
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin discovers slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from "Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know", sung by Britney Spears and written by R.J.Lange, Shania Twain & Keith Scott.

_My friends say you're so into me  
And that you need me desperately  
They say you say we're so complete_

Technology is an interesting thing. Since I was connected to the Internet, I've been able to check our ratings on-line, get a daily cyber horoscope and even delve into the realms of fan-sites devoted - inexplicably - to _me_. One day, bored, I decided to do a search on my own name. The results stunned me. Page after page of sites about _Whose Line Is It Anyway_ , my co-stars and even myself. Since that enlightening moment, I have to admit that it’s become a minor obsession for me. The lengths that people go to will never cease to amaze me. There are messageboards, online chat rooms and sites that must have taken years to create and refine. However, it's the fiction that I've become addicted to. At first, I would just stumble upon fans' own hoedowns and other fictional games. Then, one day, I discovered "slash".

* * *

_But I need to hear it straight from you_  
If you want me to believe it's true  
I've been waiting for so long it hurts  
I wanna hear you say the words, please 

"Have you seen the _Whose Line_ sites on the Internet?" I ask Greg when we meet for lunch the following day.

He frowns. "I'm not too good at all of that stuff," he confesses. "I mean, sure I have an official site and all, but it's not as though I do any of the work on it myself."

"But have you ever done a search on the show or something like that?" I press.

"Well, yeah, a few times," he admits. "I like my ego to receive an occasional stroking just as much as the next guy, Col. But why do you ask? Have you been doing a little surfing yourself?"

"Something like that." I'm not sure now if I want to continue with my line of questioning. Some of the stuff I've seen has really got me thinking. I want a second opinion, but I don't want to have to admit that the stories have thrown me.

In the end, Greg makes up my mind for me, in a rare show of insight. "You've stumbled onto one of those story sites, haven't you?" he asked, a smirk forming on his face.

"Yeah, I might have," I mutter, feeling myself going a little red just at the mention of the source of my recent confusion.

"And?" he prompts. "It's pretty surprising how on the mark these people are, isn't it?"

I feel my mouth dropping open. "What do you mean?" I squawk, nodding my thanks to the waitress placing my crab sandwich in front of me.

The smirk slowly begins to slide from Greg's countenance. "You mean…" He pauses. "God, I don't know how to put this!"

"Well, work out a way _quickly_!" I snap.

He looks at me with curiosity in his eyes. "This is really getting to you, isn't it?" he asks.

"No!" I shout, causing several other patrons of the café to look around in interest. Forcing myself to calm down a little, I try again. "Please tell me what you were going to say," I mutter, trying my hardest to keep all traces of desperation out of my voice and - I believe - at least partially succeeding.

"Well, I guess I've just always assumed…" His voice trails off as he looks at me as though I've just told him that Santa Claus doesn't exist, or something equally as life-shattering. Finally he just spits it out. "Colin, are you telling me that you and Ryan _aren't_ together?"

I guess I was expecting such a response, but now that it's been said, I'm finding it no easier to deal with than those stories on the Internet. I mean, this is major shit right here… _major_ shit. One of my closest friends and workmates has just revealed that, in his eyes, I've been sleeping with my best friend for God knows how long! How am I supposed to respond to that?

"Col?" he prompts finally, when it becomes clear that I'm not about to jump in with an answer of my own accord.

"Greg, I'm _married_!" I say finally, still avoiding his eyes. "And so is Ryan, for that matter."

"So?" he shrugs. " _I'm_ married…"

I'm not in the mood to think about the full implications of that statement at this particular point in time. There's already too much mess inside my head, forming murky pools of confusion.

"If you need me to say it straight out, then no, no we're not together," I force myself to say.

He just stares at me for a while, as if unwilling to believe that I'm telling him the truth.

"Really!" I insist when the look on his face gets to be too much for me to cope with.

"Well I never," he mumbles, bemused. "I would have _sworn_ that you two were going at it hammer and tongs!"

"Oh, lovely imagery there, Greg," I growl. "Thanks for your contribution."

He studies me carefully, eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. "I just can't believe that you guys aren't together," he says finally. "I mean, you act as though you're so in love with each other. I honestly thought the whole 'marriage and kids' thing was just an elaborate cover-up for the sake of the press."

"And you never stopped to think that one of us might have _said_ something if that was the case?" I demand.

"I guess I just thought that you both had assumed I knew!"

This is just too much for me to take in. Within less than twenty-four hours, I've discovered that our fans _and_ one of our closest friends think that Ryan and I are an item. Hell, that's a lot for _anyone_ to have to deal with!

There are a few moments silence before I finally speak again. "So…" I pause, wanting to phrase my words perfectly. "So, do you think that _Ryan_ knows about these stories?"

Greg frowns. "I don't know. I guess I always presumed so but, as we've just discovered, presumption doesn't always equal the truth."

"Most profound." I nervously take a bite of my sandwich before continuing. "It's just that I don't want him to think I'm condoning the idea or anything, you know," I try to explain. "I mean, what if he's just assumed that I get off on the whole damn idea?"

"Well, don't you?" Greg asks, as blunt as ever.

My mouth drops open in a perfect picture of shocked indignation. Sometimes I even impress myself. "What?" I squawk.

Greg doesn't even blink. "You heard me."

I'm not a blusher, but I can feel my face getting a little heated. I try to tell myself that it's the over-heated café, but it's not working very well. "Look, Greg," I begin, trying to dodge the question. "I told you that Ryan and I aren't together."

He nods. "But you wish you were."

"I didn't say that!" I protest.

"You didn't have to."

I frown and push my plate away, suddenly not at all hungry any more. "You know, I just remembered that I have to… do… something," I mutter unconvincingly. "I should really be going…"

Greg holds up a hand, presumably telling me to stay exactly where I am. "Colin," he says, slowly and seriously. "Why else would I have thought that you guys were together?"

I shrug nervously. "I dunno," I mutter. "Perhaps it's something in the water."

"Yeah, maybe," he acknowledges. "Or maybe it's something to do with the way that you guys look at each other. Or the way that you can't keep your hands off each other. Or the way…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," I butt in, before his list can get any more damning.

"Well?" he responds, raising an eyebrow.

"Christ," I mumble, shaking my head. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you this."

"Yes?" he prompts.

"Okay!" I shout, causing the other diners to look up again. "So I liked the stories, okay! Does that make me so horrible?!?"

"Nope," he grins. 

I shake my head, unable to believe him. "No," I argue. "I'm not just horrible, but perverted too!"

Greg grins and shrugs. "Aren't we all?" He laughs and reaches over to place a reassuring hand on my arm. "Don't be ashamed of being human, Col," he says in the calm tone of an ancient sage revealing the meaning of life. "Things change. That's what life's all about."

"But I don't _want_ things to change," I moan, letting my head fall back in between my arms. "I like things the way they are."

"Are you sure?" I can't see him, but I know his eyebrow's raised in that supercilious way he has. "What if changing things made them better?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well," he says slowly, as if speaking to a complete imbecile. "What if the change was that you and Ryan were together."

I laugh loudly, raising my head so that he can see the immaculate look of ridicule on my face. "Yeah, because that is _so_ going to happen, Greg."

I can see the eyebrow for myself this time. "Why wouldn't it?"

Now it's my turn to speak as though to an idiot. "Because he would never be interested, that's why," I explain. "And because I'm sure this is just some weird phase for me that's been brought on by reading those stories on the Internet."

A smile twitches the corners of Greg's lips as he looks at me. "Oh yeah," he nods. "Because this is all just a spur of the moment thing, right?"

I choose to ignore his sarcasm. "Right."

He sighs deeply. "Believe what you will, Colin. You can go on telling yourself that this whole thing is a brand new phase, or you can admit the truth and do something about it."

I laugh dryly. "Yeah. Tell Ryan and _really_ fuck things up."

"Why do you say that?"

The guy should be a psychologist. He's certainly got the routine down pat. "Because," I say slowly. "As soon as he finds out I'm having these… thoughts… about him, he's going to hate me."

"What?!?" Greg squawks. "He's got it just as bad as you do! I wouldn't have thought you guys were together if it was only _you_ acting like a lovesick teenager."

I frown. Now _this_ puts things into an entirely different perspective…

* * *

_Don't, don't let me be the last to know_  
Don't hold back, just let it go  
I need to hear you say  
You need me all the way  
Oh, if you love me so  
Don't let me be the last to know 

"Oh, hi, Ryan," I mutter, recognising the voice on the other end of the phone line. I'm a little saddened to realise that, for the first time _ever_ , I'm feeling less than comfortable talking to my best friend.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice concerned.

I smile wryly. Even without being able to see me, he knows that something's wrong. "Ah, not much," I reply, trying to persuade my voice to behave normally, despite the fact that I'm fast losing sight of what normal is. "I went out to lunch with Greg today."

"Oh, okay. How is he?" I can hear my own anxiety beginning to flow into Ryan, despite the distance.

"Good, good…"

This isn't working. Ryan and I are just too close for something like this to happen. I feel as though I'm betraying him, simply by feeling this way - simply by not _telling_ him how I'm feeling. I've never hidden anything from him before. We're like brothers. Just born miles apart and to completely different parents…

Great. Now I feel incestuous.

"Hey, Col, are you okay?" he asks finally, when the silence is beginning to stretch into previously uncharted territory,

"Yeah," I say quietly, trying to smile, even though he can't see me. "I guess I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh." He sounds hurt. I don't blame him. "Well, as long as that's all it is."

"Yeah."

This is killing me. I don't want to hurt him - hell, that's the _last_ thing I'd ever want to do - but I seem to be doing it anyway. He knows me too well to be convinced by my half-hearted lies. I feel as though I'm lying to him simply by keeping him in the dark. But the alternative…

Well, it's not _really_ an alternative, is it?

Perhaps if I just sound him out a little. Test the water, as it were. At least then I'd know if I'm correct in thinking that Greg was bullshitting me over lunch.

"Um," I begin tentatively, frowning as I try to work out how to phrase the question. "Have you ever checked out the _Whose Line_ sites on the Internet, Ry?"

There's a slight pause before he replies. "A few. Why?"

"I stumbled upon some interesting fiction sites last night."

Without realising it, I'm holding my breath. Rolling my eyes at my own foolishness, I force myself to exhale.

"Oh."

Well, that's a non-response if I've ever heard one. So much for Greg's little theory. 

"Some people are weird, aren't they," I laugh nervously.

"Yeah. Definitely." There's a short silence from the other end of the line. "Look, I've got to go, Col. There's a documentary I really want to watch on cable in a couple of minutes."

"Sure." I smile sadly. "I guess I'll see you at the taping on Tuesday."

"Yeah. Bye, Col."

"Bye, Ryan."

As I hang up the phone, I close my eyes in silent admonition of my own foolishness. I was right from the very beginning. I should never have even hinted at my feelings for Ryan. Now he's going to be avoiding me for the rest of time. I've lost my best friend, all because I've been foolish enough to get caught up in the overactive imaginations of a few fans on the Internet.

If only I could convince myself that it's just the momentary phase I so desperately want it to be. Then this whole thing would be a hell of a lot easier to dismiss as an unfortunate blip in the sensible - and _normal_ \- path of my life.

I've never been a good liar.

* * *

_Your body language says so much_  
Yeah, I feel it in the way you touch  
But 'til you say the words it's not enough  
C'mon and tell me you're in love, please 

I'm surprised to find that Ryan doesn't treat me at all differently during the Tuesday taping of _Whose Line_. He hasn't called me since the hellish phone conversation of a couple of nights ago but, apart from that, it's almost as though nothing is wrong at all.

Almost.

Sure, he's laughing and chatting with me in between games, just like he always does, but there's something about his eyes that's just not right. It's almost as though he's looking through me, rather than at me - like he's embarrassed to look - _really_ look - me in the eyes. And I don't blame him at all. Right now, I don't even want to look _myself_ in the eyes. 

I find myself wishing that he'd say something. Tell me he hates me, tell me I'm a dirty old man… as long as he told me _something_. Sure, he's speaking to me, but he's not really saying anything. And the word-filled silence says so much more than true silence ever could. Things have never been like this between us before. And I know it's all my fault, but there's no going back now. I can't erase my words, can't pretend they were never uttered. That becomes increasingly apparent with every hour. The knowledge is screaming at me now, with him sitting here beside me, his leg jiggling nervously, the only indication of the on-screen nerves he'd never dream of admitting to. I can't forget it, because it feels as though it's become my everything.

I never would have thought it before, but now I know it's always been there. I've always loved him. And those are the most terrifying of all words and yet it's as though they were spoken many years ago, somewhere deep inside me, and imprisoned within my own fear for an eternity. Because now I can't remember ever _not_ feeling this way. I can't remember a time when the touch of his hand didn't spread warmth and contentment throughout my body, can't remember a time when his voice didn't make my blood rush a little faster through my veins. And it's as though nothing has changed, although everything's different now.

It's so alien. And yet so familiar.

And now the show's over, and I'm trying to think of an excuse to stay behind and talk to him. It's not working. Eventually I just give up. There doesn't seem much point in making excuses any more. 

"Hey, Ryan," I begin tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you maybe want to go grab a few post-show drinks or something?"

His eyes refuse to meet my own as he stretches his mouth into an unnatural smile. "Y'know, I'm really tired," he mumbles. "I think I might just go straight home tonight."

"Oh." I nod, trying to smile myself. "Maybe next time."

His face is unreadable. "Yeah. Maybe."

And then he disappears into the depths of the studio, without a further goodbye, and I feel as though every remaining vestige of happiness and hope has been torn painfully from my soul.

"Lovers' tiff?" 

It takes a moment for me to register Drew's voice. Frowning, I turn to face him. "Not you too," I mumble, running my hands over my face, not really in the mood for meeting anyone's eyes.

"Huh?" Drew looks genuinely perplexed.

"Sorry. I shouldn't take my own crappy life out on you." I decide to be completely blunt. The conversation will be over quicker that way, and I'll be able to go on home to bury myself in a good bottle of red. "It's not a lovers' tiff, Drew, because Ryan and I are not, have never been, and will never be, together."

"Huh?" he repeats, his brows furrowed. If I weren't so depressed, I’d probably find his confused expression amusing.

"We're not together!" I shout, earning a few interesting looks from the remnants of the audience who have almost completed their slow leaking from the studio.

"You're joking, right?" he asks finally.

"No." I shake my head sadly. "Perhaps I wish I was."

"God," he sighs, shaking his head. "I could have fucking _sworn_ …" his voice trails off.

I shrug helplessly. "Apparently Greg thought so too."

"We _all_ did. Wait 'til Brad hears this! He's not going to believe me, you know."

"Well, it's the truth." My voice comes out harsher than I intended it to, and I smile sheepishly at him. "Sorry."

Drew finally realises that something's wrong in Colinland. "Hey, no worries," he says softly. "I guess I'm being a little insensitive, huh? I mean, you're fighting with your best friend and all I can do is marvel at the fact that you're _just_ friends."

"It's okay," I smile sadly. "It wasn't really a fight, anyway. More a justifiable reaction to my own fucking stupidity."

"What do you mean?" Drew asks, frowning worriedly. "Actually, no, hold that thought," he quickly jumps in before I can reply. "I have a strange premonition that this is the sort of conversation that calls for the bottle of whisky I just happen to have in the glove-box of my car…"

I grin. "You're a veritable psychic, Drew."

"That's _Madame_ Drew to you," he laughs as he throws an arm around my shoulders, leading me to the parking lot.

* * *

_Don't, don't let me be the last to know_  
Don't hold back, just let it go  
I need to hear you say  
You need me all the way  
Oh, if you love me so  
Don't let me be the last to know 

He's right. The bottle of whisky is a great help. I'm no great drunkard, but there are days and situations that call for a vaguely alcoholic tinge to the world's edges. Today is the perfect example. After a mouthful or ten of rather cheap whiskey, I'm a lot more inclined to talk about my problems.

"So you see," I confide in Drew. "I never even realised that I felt this way about Ryan until I talked to Greg the other day."

"How could you _not_ know?" Drew asks incredulously. "I mean, if _I_ knew, and _Greg_ knew, and _Brad_ knew, and _Diedrich_ knew…"

"Hang on a minute!" I jump in. "Diedrich knows? I hardly know the guy!"

"Hell, _everyone_ knows, Colin," Drew replies easily and not particularly comfortingly. "That's why it's so goddamn weird that _you_ didn't."

"Obviously I'm just not particularly observant," I remark dryly, stealing the bottle from Drew for another mouthful.

"And Ryan's no better."

I smile sadly. "Oh, he knows now," I mutter, staring at the label on the bottle to avoid meeting Drew's eyes. "I made damn sure about _that_ , fool that I am."

" _Does_ he know, though?" Drew asks obtusely.

"Huh?" I'm not in the mood for hints and metaphors. 

"Well, did you tell him outright?"

Now it's my turn to stare incredulously. "Of course not! I'm not quite _that_ stupid, Drew!"

"Well, then," he begins calmly. "Why are you so sure he knows how you feel?"

"Because he hates me now," I sigh patronisingly, wondering if the alcohol is affecting Drew more than it usually does. "Why else would he be so desperate to get away from me all of a sudden?"

Drew frowns, deep in thought. "Yeah, that's the question, isn't it?" There is a moment's silence, before he suddenly looks up, eyes bright with inspiration. "How exactly did you let it slip, Col?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "I just said something about the slash sites I found on the Internet and about how weird they were. He must have guessed how affected I was by reading the things people have written about us."

Drew laughs evilly. "Hey, did you read that one where the two of you were…"

I cut him off. "If I didn't, do you really think that now is the right moment to tell me all about it?"

He shakes his head, repentant. "Sorry," he grins sheepishly. "I'll be serious now." He forces a stern look onto his face. I can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it looks. "Hey!" he protests. "I try to be serious and all that you can do is laugh at me!"

Now it’s my turn to apologise. "Blame it on your cheap whisky," I grin.

He grins back at me before his countenance returns to a slightly more natural solemnity. "You know," he begins slowly. "I'm not entirely sure that Ryan _does_ know you're in love with him."

"Hey!" I protest. "Who said anything about love?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Colin," he begins slowly, as if talking to a complete imbecile. "You didn't exactly _need_ to say anything."

I glare at him, but decide not to push the issue. "Okay, then," I indulge him. "If he doesn't know, then why is he acting as though he doesn't want to be around me?"

"I think that's the problem."

"Huh?" I don't get it. And I'm sure it's not _entirely_ down to the whisky.

"Okay," he says. "I'll rephrase it. What if the problem is that he _does_ want to be around you… too much? What if he thought you were inadvertently making fun of the way he feels about you? What if he's avoiding you so that he doesn't give anything away and ruin your friendship?" He stops speaking and looks intently at me, eyebrows raised. "Well?"

"That's ridiculous." I pause. "Isn't it?"

He shrugs dramatically. "It doesn't sound ridiculous to me. And, remember, _I'm_ the one who has to sit at the desk watching the two of you making ga-ga eyes at each other."

"I don't!" I protest. "…Do I?"

"You _both_ do," he laughs. "Which is why I won't believe a word of it when you tell me that Ryan hates you. I think hate's the emotion furthest from his mind."

"Really?" The whisky must be starting to take effect because his words are actually starting to make a little sense. I mean, it's not like I'm the only culprit here. Ryan calls me as often as I call him, touches me as often as I touch him…

"Really."

I sink back onto the hood of the car. "If you're right, Drew, this is pretty huge." I take another drink then point at him with the bottle, my hand wavering slightly. " _If_ you're right, mind you."

"I'm right."

"Ssho," I break off and giggle. Yup, the whisky _is_ working. " _So_ ," I try again. "What do I do, Madame Drew?"

He shrugs. "That's easy. Go talk to him."

"I can't."

"Why not? He's your best friend, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but…" I begin to protest before being cut off.

"No buts," Drew grins. "Now, get your ass over to his house before you sober up and decide you'd prefer to be unfulfilled for the rest of your life."

I'm not quite sure why I'm doing so, but I slide down off the hood of Drew's car anyway. "You do realise that I have no idea what to say," I point out.

"Hey, I'm not going to write you a script!" he laughs. "You _must_ be drunk, or else you wouldn't be asking me - of all people - to give you relationship pointers!"

I lean over to give him a quick hug. "Thanks, Drew," I say quietly. "I'll say so now seeing as I doubt I'll feel like it once Ryan tells me to fuck off out of his life forever."

He gives me an encouraging grin and raises a hand in a silent goodbye.

* * *

_I need to hear you say_  
You love me all the way  
And I don't wanna wait another day  
I wanna feel the way you feel 

Ryan answers the door, much to my relief. I sobered up quite a bit on the cab ride to his house - more than enough to realise that a family presence for the upcoming conversation wouldn't exactly be the _greatest_ idea. Actually, the whole bloody idea is starting to seem quite ridiculous. Although, it's not as though I really have anything to lose. Relations between Ryan and me are already more than a little strained - whatever the reason.

"Colin!" The expression on Ryan's face is one of pure shock when he recognises me.

"None other," I shrug sheepishly. "Can I come in?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Sure." Pulling the door open a little further, he ushers me through to the living room.

Once we’re both seated on the sofa, he turns to me and regards me curiously. "So, what's up?"

At least Ryan doesn't seem to hate me as much now. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I'm only just beginning to realise exactly how bad an idea this is. How the hell did Drew manage to convince me so easily? It's perfectly obvious that Ryan doesn't feel anything for me beyond friendship - if, in fact, he even feels _that_ any more. But I guess he was right about one thing. As hard as it's going to be, I have to talk to Ryan.

"Oh Christ," I mutter. "I can't believe I'm here."

Ryan's expression immediately closes up again. "Oh."

I frown and shake my head. "That didn't come out right, did it?" I manage a weak smile. "Blame it on Drew's cheap taste in whisky."

"Whisky?" His eyes are still wary, but the voice is a little less tight.

"He gave me a talking to," I explained. "Just like Greg did a couple of days ago. _Somehow_ he managed to talk me into coming over here to talk to you."

Ryan nods slowly. "I'm glad you're here," he says softly. "I was a bit of a bastard after the taping today, wasn't I?"

"I'm sure you had your reasons," I shrug. "It was about what I said on the phone, wasn't it?"

He feigns confusion. "What do you mean?" 

I feel like telling him how useless it is to try to pretend to your best friend of twenty-odd years. Somehow, though, I have a feeling that now is not the time for such explanations. "When I mentioned that I read those… stories… about us…"

I watch him intently, trying to judge his expression, to read something in his eyes that could form some sort of clue to what he is feeling, what he is thinking. After a few seconds of silence, I can't stand the absence of noise any longer. "Come on, Ryan," I beg. "Don't hate me just because I'm such an idiot."

He smiles wryly. "I don't hate you, Col."

I slump back into the deep cushions of the sofa. "You might as well," I sigh. "And, you know, I wouldn't blame you at all."

"I don't know where you got this idea that I hate you," Ryan protests, his left leg jiggling nervously. "Because I can assure you that I don't. You're my best mate, Colin. You'll _always_ be my best friend." He shrugs dramatically. "You can't help the way you feel."

I concentrate intently on playing with a loose strand of cotton drifting out from the bottom hem of my shirt. "I tried," I murmur, my voice only a fraction louder than a whisper.

"You shouldn't have to!" Ryan leaps up from the couch and begins to angrily pace the room. "Why should you have to change who you are, just because I'm obviously so fucked up?"

I frown. Now I'm completely confused. "What do you mean?" I ask, looking up from the thread. "I'm the one who's at fault here, Ry."

He looks at me incredulously, eyes dark. "What are you talking about, Colin? You said yourself that the people who write those stories are weird. Surely the same goes for those who enjoy them?"

"Exactly!" I exclaim. "Which is why you'd be better off without me in your life!"

He stops mid-pace, the raised foot slowly lowering back to rest on the ground. "You're not serious."

"Why not?" I shrug, beginning to feel a little manic and more than a little masochistic as I resist a sudden urge to begin laughing hysterically. "There's obviously something drastically wrong with me."

Ryan smiles sadly and returns to his seat beside me on the sofa. "There's nothing wrong at all with you, Colin," he says softly, staring down at his feet. "It's not your fault that you don't feel the same way about me as I do about you. I'm the one who obviously felt the need to fuck up a friendship by falling in love."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. When their meaning finally begins to reach my mind, I turn to look incredulously at him. "What was that?" I ask slowly, frowning. "I think Drew's whisky's playing with my mind or something."

"Yeah, that's right," Ryan shrugs, his voice bitter. "I love you. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing you hadn't already guessed."

My mouth literally drops open. I can't say a thing. I'm too busy staring at him, my eyes so dazed that I'm not really seeing him so much as a vaguely coloured blob of familiarity.

There's a long silence before Ryan's eyes suddenly widen in realisation. "You hadn't already guessed, had you?" he asks slowly.

I somehow manage to move the right muscles to shake my head in a vague imitation of a denial.

"Oh, God," he sighs. "Ryan Stiles puts his foot in it, yet again." He shakes his head before turning a curious gaze on me. "So what was all that about then?"

I finally rediscover the ability of speech. "About me having fallen in love with you," I whisper.

"No, really," he urges. "Tell me."

I meet his eyes, and refuse to release his gaze. "I did."

Silence. 

* * *

_Don't, just let me be the one_  
Don't hold back, just let it go  
I need to hear you say  
You need me all the way  
So baby if you love me  
Don't let me be the last to know 

Silence can't last forever. Ryan is the first to shatter its tenuous grasp on our existence.

"I… I really don't know what to say," he stutters.

"Tell me you meant it."

Finally, a smile finds its way onto his face. "I meant it."

I lean over to wrap my arms around his slender torso, burying my face in the soft cotton of his shirt. "It's funny," I murmur, smiling as he wraps his own arms around me. "Everyone else seemed to realise long before we did."

I can feel his heart beating beneath my cheek. "They did?"

"Mm-huh. Apparently they all took it for granted and nobody thought to let us know."

"Typical," Ryan growls in a mock-angry tone.

I laugh and raise myself to look him in the eyes. "It seems like we were the last to know."

Instead of replying, he pulls me closer. And, after twenty years of friendship, we finally share our first kiss.

**09-11-2000**


End file.
